Again I drew myself to my full heighth.
“I am a person of iron will when my mind is made up,” I said. “You think of somthing, Carter, and I’ll see that it is done.”
He gazed at me in a rapt manner.
“Dammed if I don’t beleive you,” he said.
It is now late at night. Beresford has gone. The house is still. I take the dear Picture out from under my mattress and look at it.
Oh Adrien, my Thespian, my Love.
January 21st. I have a bad cold, Dear Dairy, and feel rotten. But only my physicle condition is such. I am happy beyond words. This morning, while mother and Sis were out I called up the theater and inquired the price of a box. The man asked me to hold the line, and then came back and said it would be ten dollars. I told him to reserve it for Miss Putnam—my middle name.
I am both terrafied and happy, dear Dairy, as I lie here in bed with a hot water bottle at my feet. I have helped the Play by buying a box, and tonight I shall sit in it alone, and he will percieve me there, and consider that I must be at least twenty, or I would not be there at the theater alone. Hannah has just come in and offered to lend me three dollars. I refused hautily, but at last rang for her and took two. I might as well have a taxi tonight.
1 A. M. The Familey was there. I might have known it. Never do I have any luck. I am a broken thing, crushed to earth. But “Truth crushed to earth will rise again.”—Whittier?
I had my dinner in bed, on account of my cold, and was let severly alone by the Familey. At seven I rose and with palpatating fingers dressed myself in my best evening Frock, which is a pale yellow. I put my hair up, and was just finished, when mother nocked. It was terrable.